


The Outbreak

by Writing_Miss_Daisy



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Rated For Violence, Romance, Sexual Content, Survival, Violence, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-01 17:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4027981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writing_Miss_Daisy/pseuds/Writing_Miss_Daisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Horror based fic. AU. - Thirty two months after the first documented infection that lead to the outbreak, a group of survivors band together to make it through life, day by day. With many obstacles in their way, their main focus is staying alive. Zombies! Eventual ZIBBS. Take the rating seriously!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N : Hey there people! So this is my very first attempt at writing a multi chapter story! It may have a few spell check errors and I apologize in advance, only I don't have a beta to help out with that at the moment. Btw that is totally an invitation to any beta's that decide to read this :D So anyways, this first chapter is just the prologue, and a tester, to whether or not you would like me to continue the story, I have two chapters written out and am currently working on the third, but i thought I'd post this first chapter, to give you guys a feel of it, and to see if you actually want me to continue, So yeah if you wanna read more, just say so and I'll continue. I plan to wait maybe a month after this release before I post the next chapter, just so I have a few in my back pocket, but from then on I'll be posting weekly :) Thanks!

Outskirts of Washington DC, October 26th 2017 04:23 am

The early morning was dressed in a tranquil silence. The only audible sound coming from the drizzle of rain as it struck the glistening streets below. A thick fog glazed the unlit roads of Washington, blanketing the city in its mist. The air was bitter, stained with the faint smell of decomp lingering heavily through the streets. The streets were completely abandoned if not for the smattering of empty cans littering the vacant roads.

The wind of the early morning was fierce, blustering throughout the city, rattling the withering trees with a force so great it thretened to pull the roots right out of the ground.

The only source of movement coming from an old deserted gas station on the outskirts of town, hidden by its lack of luminescence. The only radiance coming from the subtle glow of the still presant moon, giving off limited visual of the surroundings.

Barely noticable silhouettes drift in and out of the murky shadows. Lurking, with no destination in mind. Stumbling and moaning quietly, like that of a drunk pedestrian. The few silhouettes loiter around the peremeter of the gas station, staking claim to its residence.

Another, more active figure was hidden behind an old pinewood fence, the aged wood peeling off in the dampness of the weather. The fence was hidden by a decaying row of un-trimmed hedges, Keeping it out of veiw from any passer-byers.

The months following the outbreak had diminished any major source of hierarchy, leaving most countries unsystematic and brittle against any onslaught of attack from makeshift congregations seeking higher power against the remaining survivors. Some even known to have accomplished in creating known and expedient hierarchy throughout the now wasteland.

Though most acomplished and favourable towards the locals is the group that call themselves 'The Sovereign'. True survivors, most ex military, trained for war and ready for battle. No one's completely sure how they came about, but now they're known across the wastes for the strength of they're sructures and capabilty.

Though some just as known but less favoured also roam the wastes with the intent to rule, such as The Riders. A bunch of misfits and criminals who's main goal is to purloin anything not nailed to the ground, not as dangerous as some, but still worthy of a watchful eye. Then there's groups much more threatening and hazardous, the kind that one should always steer clear of.

Those such as 'The Brotherhood'.

The worst kind of people all meshed together like some sinister quilt of hate and anguish with the intent of wrapping itself around anyone that gets in it's way. A cult of sorts, following the say so of a much higher initiative who calls himself 'The Chief'.

It seems almost impossible to trust an outsider nower days, though those smart enough to stay watchful of any outsider stand more chance of surviving another day, rather then let your guard down to the wrong person and get your throat cut while you sleep. That's why most capable groups these days have been together for the better part of the annihilation.

The gangs had become more bothersome as the months past. As survivors have become accustomed to either eliminating or avoiding walkers it made it easier to focus there energy on rival gangs, or survivors scrounging from their people.

Though the walkers are still everyone's biggest problem, it almost semmed as if they'd been diminishing in there numbers. Not sure of the meaning in this, most survivors took it as a good sign, though some more wary lift there guards up a little higher, it almost seemed like the calm before the storm.

Though with still many reasons to always stay alert, now was one of the more peaceful times, as the structures in the immediate area were vacant of any rogue survivors claiming the land, and the only agitation in the early morning was the muted whispers within the vicinity of the gas station.

A dark brawny figure barely noticable in the lack of luminescence kneels behind the wooden structure of the fence. The figure was careful not to create too much of a disturbance in the bushes, and draw the attention of the near by silhouettes. He stayed low , kneeling behing the fence, scouting out his surroundings.

Dressed in a moss green trench coat, overing a black hooded sweater, to blend with the dark surroundings, the figures charcol coloured pants dug into the dirt at his feet, one knee glued to the ground, the other supporting his arm. The figure assesed his surroundings, peeking over the fense to scan the area.

Reaching into the pouch that was slung over his shoulder, taking residence at his hip, he pulled out a small pair of military issued binoculars. The figure raised them to his eyes to get a better veiw of the gas station. A gloved hand adjusting the sight above the field-glasses, straightening out the haziness. In his other hand he held a walkie-talkie, to the side of his face, the volume had been turned low, as to not attract attention with the sound.

"Ghost?" Came a staticy voice over the hand radio.

Adjusting his thumb on the side, pushing down the button allowing his voice to travel through the radio, he responded in a hushed tone.

"Ghost here, Bird-man, what's your twenty?"

The staticy response was immediate, "Water tower, 'bout seventy five yards to your north, I got you in visual."

Ghost scanned the fields in the distance, spotting the tower. "Any chance theirs still water in that thing?" He asked nonchalantly.

"Nada, the tank's bone dry." Came the suspected responce.

"Figures," The Ghost sighed and rubbed a hand down a dirt covered cheek, loosening his shemagh and removing his hood, he responded, "How'd we do elsewhere?" came the deep, slightly rugged voice from behind the disorded muggy fence.

The response was hesitant over the radio, "Not too good. Some provisions. Not much, maybe enough for another day or two."

Ghost sighs in recognition and opens his tattered, old backpack to reveal his nights loot. Taking inventory. Listing each item before shoving the goods back into the bag.

"You have any incounters Birdy?" came the deep response, acknowledging the voice on the other side of the talkie.

"Not on my end boss. The kid detected some lurkers southbound, about a dozen of 'em near the old library, more 'n usual,"

"Something must have drawn 'em out" The Ghost concluded.

"Must have been that scuffle last night, we should stay clear of open streets until they've thinned out." Bird-man chipped in over the radio.

Gibbs lowers his radio and nods in agreement, aware his teammate couldn't phisically see.

Ghost raised his radio to his lips and continued the routine questioning. "Any run-ins with survivors?"

The voice over the radio was quick to respond, knowing better then to leave the Ghost waiting. "Not since last week. Numbers are thinning. Getting rarer to see anyone that isn't a biter."

The station went quiet for a moment, fathoming the meaning of the Birds statement.

"Alright," A moment of scilence followed. Before he moved to a different topic, in need of a solution, "We need gas." Ghost stated, "I don't think these pumps are empty."

The response was that of a worried teammate.

"Boss, there's like eight lurkers surrounding that place, you can't risk it alone,"

Ghosts response was filled with determination, "There's seven of 'em, and one's trapped under the garage door. I can take six." He was surtain.

The reply was in frustration. "Not without making a sound, It's too risky Gibbs," Bird used his given name as a sign of worry, "We should head back to the others, get a bigger group and come back. You know I'm right."

Gibbs sighed in resignation, before responding to the voice over the radio, "Fine. We should head back now Tony, come out again later." Before ending the conversation with the command. "Move out."

At his command the line went dead as Gibbs resumed his earlier motions, packing away the last of his supplies without another word. Sealing the sack shut, he secured the backpack over his shoulder and moved towards the far end of the rickity fence.

Gibbs made his way through the bushes, away from the gas station and toward the main roads, before scouting out the local area for any disturbances. Assured that the roads were clear, he made his way down the street. Set on meeting up with Tony at their designated destination.


	2. Prologue 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : - So here's part two. These first few chapters during the develpoment of the story are gonna be quite short due to the lack of excitment, but as the story progresses, the chapter should get longer. Enjoy!

Chapter 2: Prologue 2

As the rain continued to poor Gibbs found himself making his way through the ins and outs of the city with practiced ease, traveling the distance to the convened location. Moving quietly from one portion of shelter to the next, keeping an eye on his six. An intimate routine, practiced from months of scrounging in the near by area. The route was a familiar one, so much so that Gibbs knew the easiest roads to travel and all the shortcuts on his way back to the outpost.

Their teams current designated meeting location when in the field was the roof of an old hardware store on the outskirts of the city. Close enough to their frequent scrounging grounds and a convenience for their compulsive need to stay on the move.

The store was an empty wreck, an insignificant part of the city that other rogue survivors never bothered to associate with. The only access to the roof in which they take temporary residence is a strategically placed dumpster in the alleyway behind the store. The whole structure was coated in shade, blocked out of view by the two somewhat larger buildings towering over it, keeping its residents hidden.

The survivors often find it mandatory to reassemble on the rooftop when being separated on a scavenge run or after having to disperse to cover more ground. Always making their way back to the store separately before traveling the distance back to their groups temporary establishment.

Nearing the street accommodating the old hardware store, Gibbs stayed hidden in the shadows, making his way through the maze of side streets and alleyways, keeping off the main roads and staying out of sight. Knowing the route like the back of his hand made it easier to focus on his surroundings without worrying about taking a wrong turn.

As he made his way through the deserted streets, only encountering a walker every now and then, choosing to keep silent and sneak past rather then taking it out and creating a disturbance.

Approaching the store, Gibbs silently made his way around back, descending the back street with a practiced routine he made his way to the concealed dumpster, plastered against the wall. Mounting the dumpster, Gibbs raised himself to the roof with ease.

Before he had fully ascended the brittle rooftop, Gibbs was halted in his actions by the candid site of an old cooper rifle's barrel aiming between his eyes, clouding his vision.

Startled at first, Gibbs froze in place, before sighting the younger man behind the intimidating firearm and sighing, in both relief and annoyance.

"Ease up Tony, it's just me," Gibbs assured before resuming his earlier task of lifting himself to the roof.

Tony exhaled, before easing back and lowering his weapon, relieved to see a familiar face after hours of nothing but decaying bodies throughout the night. "You scared the hell out of me boss," He uttered in a hushed tone before restoring his Cooper safely over his shoulder to assist Gibbs in mounting the roof.

Accepting the proffered hand, Gibbs hoisted himself up and accompanied Tony towards the more shaded area of the structure. "You clear the parameter?" Gibbs questioned, removing his backpack and kneeling out of view from the main streets, Tony accompanying him.

"Area's clear, a few lurkers a couple blocks away but nothing too threatening," The younger man replied.

Gibbs acknowledged the observation with a curt nod.

Kneeling side by side under a disordered stack of muggy cardboard boxes acting as a poor excuse for shelter against the still persistent rainfall, the pair commenced in examining the interior of one another's packs, dividing their nights findings into categorized groups and documenting each object.

"Find anything useful?" Gibbs queried, eyeing the items being emptied from each pack.

Tony's response was a shrug before noting, "I found some batteries. The kid said we've running low, so that's something,"

Acknowledging him with a nod, Gibbs continued scanning the each object, inspecting the labels on each scavenged can for its contents.

Satisfied with the nights findings of consumables, Gibbs approached another crucial topic, eyeing Tony, Gibbs questioned. "You find any meds?"

Tony cringed, shaking his head negatively, looking obviously defeated, "Nothing. Everything worth a damn's been taken."

Gibbs cursed under his breath, packing away supplies. "What's left?"

Tony dug through his bag, retrieving three transparent little bottles, "Aspirin, couple of antibiotics, nothing serious." Before handing the bottles over to Gibbs.

The lack of medicinal made their situation all the more threatening. Unable to medicate minor injuries left them helpless against serious infection, causing trivial abrasions to become unnecessarily more life threatening.

Stashing the pills into his pack and refastening the ties, Gibbs slung his ragged old bad over his shoulder, Tony mirroring his actions.

Gibbs removed his walkie-talkie from his side pocket and switched the dial to the appropriate station before contacting base.

"Ghost 'n' Birdy here, reporting to base, anyone there?" Gibbs questioned, awaiting the anticipated response.

Not having to wait long for a response, a youthful male voice replied within moments. "Boss? You guys have been quiet for hours, everything okay?"

"We're all good Tim, how're thing there? any problems?"

"A herd of walkers past by a few hours ago," Tim hesitated, unsure whether to continue or not "Nobody feels safe here," The response was that of worry, concern evident in his voice.

Gibbs wiped a hand over his dirt covered brow, grimacing at the grime that attached itself to his fingerless glove, before responding to the younger man over the radio, "We'll move on soon, just another day or two," he assured, before continuing, "We'll be back in about an hour, we'll maintain radio silence from here on out."

"You got it boss," The line went dead as Gibbs muted the radio and stashed it in his pouch, before acknowledging the man still accompanying him.

"We should move out before dawn, I don't wanna encounter any unnecessary trouble." Gibbs stated, adjusting his scarf around his neck and donning his hood.

Tony mirrored Gibbs' actions, adjusting his similar attire, preparing to move out, "Metro or side streets?" he questioned, grabbing an old worn skateboard from the shadows, the chipped base giving it a well used look.

"Streets," Was Gibbs' quick response, "The kid located a herd in the tunnels, we can't rick getting caught up in it."

Tony nodded in agreement and hooked the board to his backpack, before following Gibbs to the edge of the roof, scouting the area for any lurkers before continuing to descend the rooftop, resting his boot on the dumpster for leverage, careful not to slip.

Climbing down, the pair immediately kneeled behind cover, surveying the streets for any disturbance, assured the coast was clear they made their way across the street to an identical alley and continued on to the next.

Taking the side roads through the city, keeping out of sight from any prying eyes, the two made their way from one dark alley to another. Passing through abandoned streets, as they neared their temporary accommodations the pair slowed their pace, scanning their surroundings, being sure not to lure any stray walkers into their current base.

Their current headquarters was one of the old underground train carts from before the outbreak. It had been stopped and derailed midway through the tunnel, leaving its surrounding etched in darkness. It wasn't the safest of destinations but it had held up thus far, safe from a lack of disturbance. Every once in a while a lone walker roamed through on its endless search for food. Though recently more infected have found their way into the tunnels, some even traveling in herds, creating a disturbance for the survivors, leaving their only option to stay hidden until they passed.

They had only taken up residence in the underground for a couple off weeks, choosing to stay off the main roads in hopes of avoiding the infected. Though it seemed to have worked so far, it was almost as if the walkers were keen to their plan.

Feeling threatened in the pitch black tunnels, the few survivors had been making plans to move on in hopes of finding safety among other survivors and a strong structure held together by preferably large walls.

In the two years their group have slowly forged a trustworthy alliance, staying together through the hardest of times, from losing valuable members of the group to the better times of gaining the trust of someone new, they stuck together through thick and thin, maintaining mutual respect for one another and their individual significance to the group.

As the pair made their way through the deserted streets, rarely encountering any walkers thanks to the stillness of the alleyways. They choose to keep silent and sneak past the walkers they do encounter rather then risk alerting more to their presence.

As they neared the entrance to the old subway, the welcome view of its makeshift barricade of two strategically placed dumpsters blocking the stairways, outsmarting in lack of intelligence that are walkers. After safely assuring they weren't followed, Gibbs removed his flashlight from his backpack, preparing for the utter darkness they would soon be coated in.

Hoisting themselves over the dumpsters and into the stairway, Gibbs assured the barricade hadn't shifted under their weight. Convinced they were safely in place Gibbs removed his radio to signal the team of their arrival, assuring they wont be shot as they made their way to the others. The response was a simple declaration of consent.

Accepting permission to continue, the pair travelled the distance of the tunnels in silence, keeping low and to the side of the tracks, not out of worry of a train passing but out of caution for passing walkers, a strategic routine, a safer way of traveling.

They approached the appropriate cart with caution, scouting the area for misplaced larkers. Seeing none they moved on in silence, weaving in and out of what was left of stripped train carts with ease. Avoiding tactically placed handmade booby traps made simply of empty cans and string. Gibbs whistled low and long as they neared the carts door, signalling their arrival and waiting for the doors to be unlocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N : - So I've been on the fence about this chapter, I had to re-write it like four time's 'cause it just didn't sound right, so sorry if it sucks.
> 
> \- WMD


	3. Temporary Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : - Ahoy! Here's another chapter, so yeah, Reveiw if you like it!

Chapter 3. Temporary home.

The sound of metal shifting as the carts doors unlocked created a low- high pitched chime that echoed throughout the tunnels. The door slid open, revealing a bijou ray of light emenating from the interior of the cart, shadowed by a silhoutte holding the heavy iron door open.

Without a word Gibbs moved towards the cart and raised himself in, offering Tony his hand when the younger man mirrored his actions. Sliding the heavy iron door closed and securing the bolt, they moved towards the center of the cart accompanying the slihoutte.

The cart was substantual in size, large enough for everyone to have their own space, but still a tight fit with its residents and the suplies they have accumulated. The cart was approximitely thirty feet long and ten feet wide, the far end was covered in sleeping bags and an array of different sized blankets. There were backpacks and duffels littering the interior of the cart, packed with an assortment of supplies and personal items.

Most of residents were peacefully asleep in their designated quaters, only one, along with the silhoutte still awake and gathered in the forefront of the cart. Gibbs and Tony followed the silhoutte to the small gathering area, a woman huddled around a carfully controlled flame emenating from a caged trash can.

The pair were imidiately adressed with a hospitable greeting as they kneeled by the contained fire. Appreciative of the company, the duo responded in kind, greeting the respected members of the group as they removed their packs and placed them near by.

"You're late," The voice was that of smoky femininity, reprimanding yet affectionately appreciative of the pairs safe return.

The pair, looking decidedly admonished, had the decency to sound sheepish in their response, "Sorry 'bout that, got a little sidetracked," was Tony's simple apology to the womans worry of their late attendance.

"Did something happen?" The woman brushed a stray peace of her blonde locks behind her ear.

It was Gibbs turn to reply to the young, doting woman, "Nah," He denied assuringly, "We extended our search a little, just a few more blocks."

The responding glances of worry among the team were expected as they had neglected to mention their plans to widen the search for supplies.

"We agreed not to take that risk," The young woman scolded unaprovingly.

"Breena's right boss, you said we'd disguss it before expanding our scavanging." The younger man of the group piped up, hurt by the lack of enlightenment.

Gibbs sighed, but acknowledges the younger mans questioning glances in kind, "It was a spur of the moment thing," Gibbs shrugged, "We had time to spare before dawn, we didn't want to put it to waste."

"Boss if we'd known you were expanding the search we could have sent someone else with you."

"And risk being seen?" Gibbs questioned, not waiting for an answer before continuing, "The two of us were enough Tim, more would have drawn unessisary attention."

"Still-" Tim cut himself off, shaking his head in defeat.

Accepting that- what's done is done, the group decided to drop the topic for now, moving on to more assential topics, such as their nights loot.

"Jethro. Anthony,"

The groups attention was suddenly drawn to an older gentleman making his way from the far end of the cart, passing by the sleeping forms and towards the small gathering in forefront of the structure. Reaching the group, the man instantly joined in kneeling by the fire and greeting the two scavangers.

The older mans greeting was friendly, almost fatherly, his accent thick with a well spoken british twang. "Dare I ask, how you did tonight?" The man questioned with an air of cuation.

The two men in question greeted the man in kind and reached for their forgotten packs, hauling them towards the group and unfastening the restraints.

"We ransacked the diner by the old bus depot," Tony mentioned, rumaging through his pack, removing each item one by one. "The place had pretty much been stripped, but we found some canned food in the back, enough for another couple o' days at least."

The appreceation from the small group of the pairs scavanging didn't go unnoticed by the two. The group had always been thankful for their willing ability to risk their life to ensure the group was taken care of, always putting the team before themeselve.

Though the majority of the group were young and fit for manual labor, Gibbs and Tony were always persistant in stating their preferences of the others staying behind to watch out for the group should something go south.

Though the group barely stayed in one place long enough for such misfortion to happen, it was always safer to stay prepared. This entailed the group to always keep their things packed and close by, should there be trouble and the need to leave in a hurry is required.

"Were you able to forege any medicine?" The older mans question was expected.

Gibbs haulted in rummaging through his pack and sighed, shaking his head negitively before responding. "Sorry Duck, the places we searched had already been ransacked for meds, all we could find were a couple of aspirin." He stated grudgingly, shoving his nights loot back into the pack and lowering it to the floor beside him.

A moment of silence followed the statement as the group comprihended the meaning of what was said, the seriousness of the statement.

"I think we should check the hospital." Gibbs declared, breaking the silence with his blunt comment.

The statement hung uncomfetribly in the air, an agonizing silence followed, before a response was heard.

"Jethro we desgussed this, It's too much of a risk to take at the moment. That place is full of walkers." Ducky's worried statement held a hint of finalty, refusing to go over this topic again.

"That was before. We were week, barely able to hold our own." The statement was true, they had been week, barely able to survive the months of struggle. "We're stronger now, smarter even. We could make this run without a problem now, you know that Duck." Gibbs eyes were pleading with the older man, communicating his need for Ducky's approval.

The cart was silent.

"We should let the group decide," Breena resolved, "We make every other decision as a team and this shouldn't be any different,"

Gibbs sighed in frustration but nodded in agreement, accepting the truce, the decision was up to the group as a whole whether he liked it or not.

"Well until then I think we should all get some rest, It's been a long day," Ducky stated before raising himself up and making to leave.

The group instantly agreed wholeheartedly, they were all in dire need of rest after the stress of the long day.

"I like the sound of that," Timothy McGee stated as he lifted himself up and made his way to his makeshift bed, sending the group a friendly nod as he followed Ducky to their similar sleeping quaters.

Tony stood up and stretched, openly displaying his need for rest. With a simple gesture of the hand, waving to the remaining two, he made his way to the far end of the cart, finding his sleeping bag and laying down.

As Breena stood to bid goodnight to Gibbs, he haulted her in her actions, quietly questioning, "How is she?" his brow softening as he glanced toward one of the occupied sleeping bags.

She smiled at his soft consern, "Kelly's fine," Breena assured,

"She worries about you," she added as an after thought.

Gibbs sighed, acknowledging the womans remark, well aware of his daughters constant worry for his well being. The little girls was too mature for her own good, always keeping an eye on her father and worrying.

Breena rested a friendly hand on Gibbs shoulder, smiling assuringly, "She'll be fine,"

Gibbs responded with a guarded smile before nodding his head and eyeing Breena, "You okay?" he questioned, glancing down at the young womans midriff.

Breena followed his line of sight and smiled affectionitely at her swollen stomach, eyeing the growing bump with a motherly tenderness, "I'm good," she said, "We are good," she ammended.

Gibbs smiled and rest a hand on the womans stomach, feeling for any movement.

"I think he's sleeeping," Breena stated, watching Gibbs brow rise in curiosity.

"He?" Gibbs questioned. "You think it's a boy?"

Breena's lips quirked up, forming a fimiliar smirk before responding, "I do,"

"Mothers intuition?" Gibbs guessed.

"Sure," Breena replied nonchaly, before feighning innocents, "And I kinda have a bet going with Tony," She grinned, eyeing the older man for a reaction.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and lowered his hand from Breena's stomach. The two shared a friendly, fimiliar smile as a comfertable scilence fell between the two.

Through the many months they had accompanied one another, the two grew close, building a friendship, at first off empathy, then something deeper then mutual loss. They looked out for each other, keeping the other safe. The two, though cared very deeply for one another, had no sexual notions toward one another, they were simply friends. Though most didn't understand the unusual friendship, the two were comfertable in their intimacy.

Reaching a hand toward his brow, Breena brushed a lock of hair away from Gibbs' face stroking a hand through his damp, slightly curled mane.

"You need a haircut," Breena stated, eyeing the lengthy tresses as they fell through her slender fingers.

Gibbs grunted, questioning lightly, "You offering to cut it?"

Breena smiled in response before nodding her head slowly, "I could," she offered, "If you'd find me a decent pair of sizzors,"

Gibbs chuckled as Breena released her soft grasp on his hair, "I'll keep an eye open," he promised.

Nodding in finality, the young woman added, "Good, maybe I can even do something about that beard," She teased lightheartedly, "Your face is losing the war," Breena commented in mock seriousness.

The responding grin she recieved was a welcome site as he reached one strong hand towards his face, lightly stroking the rough hair there. Said beard wasn't quite at the grizzly adams stage as of yet, it was simply half an inch of scruff covering his lower face. Shaving had become one of their least priorities, barely taking notice of the rough facial hair and outgrown stresses.

"You should get some rest,"

Breena contenplated Gibbs' good-natured command, debating whether to follow through or keep the leader company.

The choice was made for her when Gibbs offered, "I'll take first watch. There's no point in the both of us losing sleep,"

Sighing, Breena agreed, resting a soft hand on Gibbs' shoulder before leaning in and placing a friendly kiss to his cheek. Bidding him goodnight, Breena headed towards the single matress in the cart, laying down and resting her eyes.

The team had managed to forage a single matress from an abbandonned house, keeping it for the soon to be mother, creating as much comfort for the woman as possible. Though Breena had objected the special treatment at first, she had aventually accepted under Gibbs' insistants.

Gibbs made his way towards the small crate- acting chair, removing his sig from its haulster and placing the firearm beside him for easy access. The team had taken it in shifts to keep watch, always having a lookout should they be approached by danger.

Perched on the edge of the crate Gibbs leaned forward, placing clammy palms on each knee, assessing his surroundings. The carts was silent, the only sound coming from the genlte beathing of its sleeping residents as they lay peacefully throughout the cart.

The group had grown close through the time they spent together. An unlikely group of survivors from completely different backgrounds creating a family like atmosphere with each other.

Through all their differences, the team hand formed a special bond, caring for one another the way they would a brother or sister, being sure to keep their group safe as best they could.

Through the months of worry and struggle, losing people and gaining others, Gibbs' finally felt at peace with the company he kept. He trusted every member of the group with his life and knew they felt the same. He felt at ease in the presence of the group, finally able to relax and unwind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (A/N - So I'm a huge zombie buff and I've seen pretty much every good zombie related thing there is. Anyone know where the the quote "Your face is losing the war," is from? :D)


	4. Seven Months And A Purple Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Hey guys, so this chapter is a little late and incredibly short because i've been sick for like the past week, but i didn't want to leave you guys hanging for too long, so here it is. Also bear with me on this.

Chapter 4. Seven Months And A Purple Hart

The pain had been exruciating for the past two hours. The bandage covering his leg felt restricting, numbing his leg to everything but the throbbing ache. The meds he was given had worn off pretty quickly after boarding but the discomfort had taken a while to set in.

Six hours into the flight and only halfway to his designated destination and Gibbs was already on edge, though thankful soon to be back to his family after months away in the blistering Kuwait desert, though slightly dissapointed about the circumstances.

This deployment had been, by far, the most intense one to date, things had seemed to get worse by the day, more attacks put his squad on edge. Though the attacks were nothing like he'd ever experienced, the enemy seemed crazed with vexation, not batting an eye before coming at them at full force.

During a partucularly bad assult, one of Gibbs' squad members had been shot and killed whilst holding an armed grenade, leaving his men fragile to the explosion. Though no one had been killed by the friendly grenade, it had blown Gibbs knee cap out, nearly leaving him missing the limb.

Said injury had left him unable to serve the marines on active duty, sending him home to the USA and soon to be retired.

Seven months, a purple hart and one honerable discharge later, Gibbs was making his way back home to his loving wife and little girl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N : - So there will actually be a few chapters like this one throughout this particular fic, short and a little off topic, but they have reason, so roll with it yo!

**Author's Note:**

> (A/N : - Hey peoples, so for anyone that read this before, there has been some updates with the scenery, and I kinda think they'll suit the story more, and I'll be able to add an extra chapter because of it. So yeah tell me what you think of the Re-write!)
> 
> \- WMD


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